Clara Gets A Cat
by Heartstart
Summary: Clara wants to get a pet cat. So the Doctor takes her to Cat Planet, a world filled with alien feline species. What could go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

The Tardis door swung open, and the Doctor stepped out into the field. The breeze ruffled his grey hair and billowed his jacket, exposing the crimson lining. He turned around, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"Well, come on. We're here!"

Clara poked her head around the door, clutching an empty cat carrier.

"Doctor, I'm still not sure about this."

"You said you wanted a cat. You won't find more cats anywhere else in the universe than here."

"Yeah. Still not getting it. Why do we need to travel halfway across space? We have these things on Earth called 'Animal Shelters'. Believe it or not, they have plenty of cats in need of a home."

The Doctor snorted. "Earth moggies – so boring and bland. All stripes and fleas! This planet has all sorts of feline species you can choose from."

"But-"

"Clara, Clara, Clara…" he began. Clara frowned. She did not entirely trust the Doctor when he repeated her name like that; nor did she trust the somewhat crooked grin he flashed her. The Doctor had been acting odd ever since she revealed she was planning on getting a pet cat. Bundling her into the Tardis. Whisking her off to this planet – whatever it was. What was he up to?

"…where's your sense of adventure?" the Doctor finished.

Well. He had her there. She found herself returning his smile. She never could pass up the opportunity for an adventure with the Doctor. Anyway, this place looked harmless enough. Sunshine and fluffy clouds overhead. They'd landed in a meadow of what appeared to be grey, spongey grass. In the distance stood a collection of stalls and shops. A marketplace.

She stepped out of the Tardis, and her foot sank into something sticky. And furry.

"Urgh! Doctor, what's wrong with this grass?"

"Ah," said the Doctor. "I don't think it's actually grass."

"What is it?"

The Doctor put his Sonic Sunglasses on, and scanned the ground. "Fur balls."

"Fur balls? Oh, god, that's disgusting."

"It's perfectly natural."

"And perfectly disgusting." Clara twisted around. "A whole field full of fur balls!"

The Doctor shrugged. "Better out than in."

Clara suppressed a shudder of revulsion. "Well, if I'm going to find a cat, we'd better press on."

"Wait." The Doctor seized the cat carrier and threw it back inside the Tardis. "You won't be needing that. Many of these species will come willingly. If you ask them nicely enough, of course. And others simply won't fit."

"Won't fit? How big are they?"

"You'll see."

They walked across the field towards the market place, the fur balls sucking slightly at the soles of their shoes.

"What's this planet called, anyway?"

"Cat Planet."

"Cat Planet?"

"Yes. It's a planet. Full of cats. Cat Planet."

Clara shook her head. The last planets she and the Doctor had visited were named Abroxus, De Talana, and Ko'i. One of these names is not like the others, she thought. Out loud, she asked, "How many cats live here?"

"About three million, from over ten thousand different species," replied the Doctor. "You've got the Tharils, the Kitlings, the Cheetah People – perhaps stay away from those – the Flatheaded Mousers, the Alleyslinkers, the Catkind, the Leonine – avoid those too – and the Fanged Grimalkins. Surprisingly friendly, the Fanged Grimalkins. They like tea with a slice of lemon."

They'd reached a rough track which led towards the markets. Clara heard the clatter of wooden wheels, the chink of glasses, laughter, shouting, and meowing.

"Do you like cats, Doctor?" Clara asked curiously.

"Sometimes they're a useful source of information," he admitted. "Sometimes they turn up at the wrong moment. Sometimes they're too big, and you're too small. Mostly, I think, they just get in the way."

The Doctor said no more until they reached the market place. It took Clara's breath away. Barrows and stalls lined the narrow laneways, selling a variety of cat-related goods. Dead mice, rats, and other unidentifiable rodents lay heaped in baskets. Handcarts displayed braces of milk bottles. Clara glanced at the signs. Cows milk, goats milk, yaks milk, buffalo milk, quoddle milk (whatever that was). Dead birds hung from strings – some the size of starlings, and others the size of turkeys. They passed a cluster of barrels containing an assortment of sardines, kippers, herring, and tuna. The place smelt of fish and smoke and meat and damp fur.

And the cats! Felines of all types packed the market place. Clara realised what the Doctor meant about several species not fitting into a cat carrier. Some were the size of humans and walked upright on their hind legs, dressed in clothing. Clara watched in fascination as a pair of cats dressed like Earth nuns passed by, heads downcast in silent contemplation. More of these humanoid cats stood behind the stalls, flogging their wares. Others sat at tables, neatly carving platters of raw meat with knives and folks, or playing cards. There were smaller cats, quadrupedal, twining through the alleys. Those cats could have passed for normal Earth cats, save for the fact that their fur was bright green. Others looked like regular tortoiseshells, but had three tails.

Which type of feline should she pick? And how would she go about it? Could she just walk up to one and say "Hi, my name's Clara. Want to be my pet?" It didn't help that the Doctor, two paces behind her, was rather distractingly whistling the song 'Memories'. Which – Clara realised, was from the musical 'Cats'. Of course.

Luckily, the Doctor ceased both whistling and walking. "Clara. I think I have the perfect cat for you."

They stood outside a luxurious tent; rich velvet and decorated with tassels. On the side was a symbol of what appeared to be a cat slaying a snake.

"Wait here a moment," the Doctor told her. "I'll see if she's willing to grant you an audience."

An audience - what? And who was 'she'? Before Clara could ask more, the Doctor yanked aside the heavy curtain covering the entrance, and disappeared inside. She waited with arms crossed, tapping her foot, and smiling awkwardly at the customers browsing the stall next door (which apparently sold balls of yarn for nine droogles each).

The Doctor emerged. "Okay, Clara. You can enter."

Clara stepped inside the tent, blinking in the lamplight. As her eyes adjusted, she made out the figure of a cat sitting on a cushion. This cat was about the size of an ocelot, with sleek blue-grey fur and rather protuberant golden eyes. On either side of this elegant animal were two large bipedal cats; dressed in tunics and carrying spears.

"Lady Bastetly, may I present Miss Clara Oswald. Clara, this is Lady Bastetly; High Priestess of the Upper Ter, Slayer of the Pana Serpent, and Major Shareholder of Comfy Cushions Pty Ltd" said the Doctor.

He then whispered in Clara's ear: "Curtsey."

"Because she's a High Priestess?" Clara whispered back.

"No, because she's proud to be a major shareholder. Takes her cushions very seriously."

"Right. Okay." Clara plucked at the hem of her short polka-dotted skirt, and curtseyed as best she could.

"Be seated," said Lady Bastetly, pointing with her paw at a camp stool. Her voice was a refined purr. Clara obligingly sat. "I understand," continued Lady Bastetly, "That you are a devotee looking for a feline to worship?"

"Um, no. I'm just a human. From Earth. Looking for a cat, to keep as a pet."

"Same thing," said the Doctor, quietly.

"I am willing to accompany you back to your home on Earth," said Lady Bastetly, in a tone which suggested that Clara should be extremely grateful for this. "Of course, I expect to be fed, sheltered, attended to, and have complete dominion over your hearth and its furnishings."

"That means Lady Bastetly will sleep on your furniture," explained the Doctor.

Clara hesitated. How much did fur did Lady Bastetly shed? Would it be polite to ask?

"I also have several other conditions," continued the feline High Priestess. "I must be brushed every day."

"Sounds reasonable…" began Clara, but Lady Bastetly wasn't finished.

"Three times; at 6am, 12pm, and 9pm. One hundred strokes exactly each time, from head to tail. No more, and no less."

"Hold on," said Clara. "I have a full time job, not to mention a life, so that might be a little-"

Lady Bastetly interrupted her again. "Using a brush made from the hairs of a Mangalitsa Boar."

Clara threw a glance at the Doctor, who shrugged in return.

"The brushing will occur after I am bathed," continued Lady Bastetly.

"Oh. You mean after you clean yourself?" asked Clara, picturing cats licking themselves.

Lady Bastetly's eyes widened in astonishment. "I would not sully my own tongue! As my devotee, I expect you to be personally responsible for my toilette."

"Doctor," whispered Clara. "Does she mean what I think she means?"

He nodded slowly.

"Just to be clear, Lady Bastetly," said Clara politely. "Am I to understand that I must… lick you three times a day?"

Lady Bastetly purred in response.

Clara stood up. "Right, this is not going to work."

Lady Bastetly suddenly rose, arching her back and hissing.

"Clara, you've offended her," murmured the Doctor. "You can't simply refuse a High Priestess."

"Oh, Doctor. Watch me."

Lady Bastetly's two guards swung their spears down, pointing them directly at Clara and the Doctor.

The Doctor jumped back, holding up his hands. Clara sat down again, thinking rapidly.

"Lady Bastetly," she said carefully. "Now that I think about it, I'm really not worthy to be your owner – I mean, your worshipper."

"Yes, that's right," said the Doctor, nodding eagerly. "She's not worthy!"

Clara glared at him briefly, before continuing. "A superior being like yourself deserves the best. My abode is… too small. And my furnishings are humble. And… and… I have no cushions!"

Lady Bastetly sat back on her haunches, her golden eyes full of disappointment. "That will simply not do. I agree. You are utterly inadequate as a worshipper. I give you my leave to depart."

Once outside the tent, Clara stormed down the alleyway, the Doctor trailing in her wake.

"Oh come on! She wasn't that bad."

Clara wheeled on him. "She was completely insufferable! Whatever made you think she'd make a good pet?"

The Doctor sighed. "Okay. I have another feline in mind. You may find him more easygoing. Follow me."

Clara hesitated, then plunged through the crowds after the Doctor. No one could be worse than Lady Bastetly. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

When Clara found the Doctor, he was speaking with a large, spotted, bipedal cat with tawny eyes. This animal wore a rather natty waistcoat over rolled up shirt sleeves. He grinned when he saw Clara, revealing a row of small, sharp teeth.

"Hullo, Miss. Shine your shoes?"

Clara noticed the row of gleaming shoes at his feet.

"Nesboro likes to keep busy," explained the Doctor. "Nesboro, this is Clara Oswald. Clara, this is Nesboro of the Fanged Grimalkins."

Nesboro held out his paw, which Clara took. His claws, Clara noticed, were neatly manicured.

"Oh, the Doctor mentioned your species!" she said. "You like tea with lemon."

"Indeed we do, Miss. I make a very nice cuppa, even if I do say so myself. Now – how about them shoes?"

Clara slipped off her shoes. "That's very kind. But please, call me Clara."

"But that wouldn't feel right, Miss. Not with you possibly being my new owner and all." He made a hawking noise in his throat, and spat a gob of saliva onto the soft calf leather of her newest pair of burgundy wedge heels.

"Spit polishing. Charming," said Clara weakly.

"Don't you worry, Miss," said Nesboro, taking a cloth and rubbing her shoe. "The saliva of a Fanged Grimalkin has natural cleaning properties, and is completely sanitary. Gets your shoes sparkling in no time."

Sure enough, the grime of the streets quickly dissipated from her shoe. It looked as clean as it had the day Clara bought it. Nesboro spat on her other shoe, humming cheerfully as he worked. Once over her initial revulsion, Clara found herself liking him.

"So. Nesboro is willing to be your housekeeper, as well as your pet," said the Doctor.

Clara didn't quite know what to say. "Really? That's, um, very kind. But totally not necessary. I can clean up after myself, more or less."

"No trouble, Miss. I like to earn my keep. I dust, sweep, vacuum, cook, wash dishes, change the light bulbs, collect your mail, clean the bathroom and scrub the floorboards."

Clara laughed. "Well, my landlord's going to love you." Nesboro handed her back her shoes, which she put on. They even smelt great – fresh, with a faint trace of lemon. "But…" she didn't quite know how to say it, "I was looking for a pet to, well, pet." She felt the Doctor's eyes on her, and blushed a little. "You know, someone to curl up on my lap while watching TV."

"Happy to do that too, Miss. Or you can sit on mine, if you like. Us Grimalkins are adaptable like that."

Clara thought. Apart from the lap-sitting part, she was willing to give Nesboro a try. "Do you have any requirements? You um, don't need me to bathe you, do you?"

"No, Miss. I'm very low maintenance. Wash myself, sleep on the floor, and I know how to use an Earth-designed bathroom. My diet is very simple. None of your kibbles, if you please. All I need is tea with lemon every day, and a nice human bone once a week."

"Sorry," said Clara, blinking. "Did you say _human_ bone?"

"Yes, Miss. The fresher the better. So I can suck the marrow right out of it."

There was a long pause.

"Are you planning on sucking my marrow?" asked Clara cautiously. She gave the Doctor her best 'shall we start slowly edging away?' glance, but he didn't seem too perturbed.

Nesboro laughed. "Gracious no, Miss. It's against our code to eat our owners. But if you have an annoying neighbor, or a local tramp, or a superfluous postman, that would be most handy."

"Oh dear. There's always a catch," said the Doctor.

"Nesboro," said Clara. "Thank you for shining my shoes. But unfortunately, you can't be my pet. There's this… Thing."

"A Thing," agreed the Doctor.

"What Thing?" asked Nesboro, confused.

"I… only drink coffee," said Clara. "No tea. No lemon. Sorry."

Nesboro closed his eyes in dismay, and Clara and the Doctor took the opportunity to sidle away, into the crowd.

"How did you not know that Fanged Grimalkins eat human bones?" asked Clara, fuming.

"The topic never came up," protested the Doctor.

"Doctor, why don't we just go home? I don't think we're going to find a suitable cat in this marketplace."

"Then let's try elsewhere," he said. "There are other feline species on this planet that live in the wild. Let's have a quick look."

Reluctantly, Clara followed him out of the markets. The streets ended, and before long, they were walking across open ground; over tussocks of grass and stony soil. Scrubby trees dotted the landscape. The sounds of the marketplace faded behind them.

"Not seeing any cats," Clara remarked.

"Try looking up."

Clara did so. And gasped. Perched on a low branch of a tree about twenty metres away was the cutest, fluffiest kitten she'd ever seen. Midnight black, with enormous green eyes. It mewled at her piteously.

"Doctor, look! Isn't it gorgeous?"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "Clara, be careful. It looks innocent, but you don't know what it's capable of."

Clara ignored him. "Do you think it could be stuck?" She approached the tree. "Hey there. Are you okay, sweetheart?" She was aware her voice sounded cooing, and she heard the Doctor snort. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Do you need somewhere to live? I have a lovely apartment back on Earth."

Then she stopped. Blinked. Was it her imagination, but did the kitten appear to be growing? She took another few steps towards the tree. No, it was definitely getting bigger. Its limbs and torso were lengthening, broadening; it now had the appearance of a large house cat. A rather irritated house cat too. Its tail swished, and its eyes had turned yellow. Clara moved forward again. The creature grew before her eyes; the branch dipped alarmingly under its weight. Its mouth drew back in a snarl to reveal a row of sharp incisors, and its eyes now had an orange cast.

"Ah, Clara, just step back."

For once, she obeyed the Doctor, and moved backwards to rejoin him. As she did, the cat shrank in size, until she was once more staring from a distance at a mewling kitten.

"I don't get it! What was that? It just… changed."

The Doctor put on his Sonic Sunglasses and scanned the kitten. "It's a Feline Demonicus," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "A species that changes in size and aggression, depending on how close one gets to it. From a distance they're completely harmless, but up close, they're dangerous. Very dangerous, Clara."

"Doctor, what's it doing?"

The kitten scampered down the tree, hit the ground, and padded toward them. Already, it was growing again.

"I think we should just back away, nice and slowly," said the Doctor.

The cat picked up pace. Clara saw claws sprouting from its elongating limbs.

"Faster" said the Doctor.

But the Feline Demonicus was closing the gap; growing larger, muscle thickening over its body, eyes yellow again, hissing and spitting.

"Clara. Run!" yelled the Doctor.

Clara was only too happy to oblige. She and the Doctor ran, dodging trees and rocks, glancing over their shoulders only to find the cat still pursuing them.

And then the ground dropped away, and Clara found herself teetering on the edge of a steep drop. The Doctor pulled her back, just in time.

"Okay. Cliff. Not good!"

"Not good," agreed the Doctor.

The Feline Demonicus sprinted towards them, now the size of a panther.

"Doctor, is there a plan?"

"Yes. Yes. I think so."

The creature's eyes were red coals. It roared in triumph. Clara saw its muscles tense, ready to spring.

"Now would be a good time to-"

The Doctor slammed into Clara, knocking them both flat to the ground. She glimpsed a black blur as the giant cat streaked overhead, into the space where they had stood. Then – nothing.

For a moment they lay still, Clara shielded by the Doctor's body. This close to him, she noticed the soft, creased skin of the Doctor's throat, and breathed in his aroma; fresh like the ocean, old like rare Scotch, and something else indefinable and alien but not unpleasant. She felt his two hearts, beating fast against her own chest.

Then he scrambled up, and pulled her to her feet. She became aware that her back ached from the fall, and her left elbow was badly grazed.

"Sorry," said the Doctor, still breathing hard. "Only plan I could think of."

"It went over the edge. Is it dead?"

They peered carefully over the cliff. At the bottom sat a tiny black kitten, mewling helplessly at them.

The Doctor did a quick scan. "Innate hovering ability. It would have floated to the bottom." He glanced at Clara. "Perhaps not the right pet for an apartment."

Clara backed away from the cliff, and started walking back toward the marketplace.

"So, shall we crack on? Look for another cat?" said the Doctor.

His cheerful tone grated. Clara realised she was close to tears. Not to mention tired, bruised, and absolutely over this planet. "No. I just want to go home."

This trip had been a complete disaster. And she still didn't have a cat.


	3. Chapter 3

Clara stepped out of the Tardis into her tiny living room. She threw the cat carrier onto the sofa. Fat lot of good that trip had been. She marched to the kitchen, aware of the Doctor following her silently. They'd lately fallen into a habit of hanging out in her flat after an adventure. She'd make them tea, and they'd sip it at the table, laughing and chatting about their experience. Not this time. She flipped the switch on the electric kettle and banged one mug down onto the counter.

"Well, that was fun, don't you think?" asked the Doctor. "Pity you didn't find a cat you liked."

"Shut up, Doctor."

He flinched as though she'd slapped him.

"Do you know why I wanted a cat?"

The Doctor shook his head slowly.

"When my mum died," began Clara, looking him directly in the eye. "It felt like the end of the world. I cried myself to sleep every night. And sometimes I'd hear Dad too, crying, when he thought I was asleep. I didn't want to go anywhere; didn't want to see my friends or listen to music or go for a walk. I didn't leave the house for days. But you know what helped?"

He shook his head again.

"Our cat. The family cat. Her name was Soxie. We got her from the shelter when I was ten. Even though Mum was gone, Soxie was still there. She slept on my bed every night, and I didn't feel so alone. And I had to feed her and let her out and look after her. That made things feel normal again. Eventually."

"I didn't know," he said softly.

Behind her, the water in the kettle started to bubble.

"Soxie died three years later," said Clara. "Buried her in Dad's backyard. And I said to myself, 'one day I'll get another cat'. And then when Danny and I…" a lump came to her throat and she swallowed hard before continuing. "We'd talked about moving in together. I wanted a cat. He didn't. And then he died."

"Clara-"

"And so I'm here, all by myself. Yeah, I've got Dad. And Gran. But they've got their own lives. He's got his girlfriend. She's got Bridge Club. And you, Doctor…"

"Go on."

"Sometimes you go away, and I don't see you for weeks and weeks. Oh I know, sometimes you need to be elsewhere and I can't come, but I get lonely, Doctor. I thought a cat would be good company. Someone to look after, while I'm waiting for you to come back."

The kettle boiled more furiously.

"And then you take me to that horrible planet with those awful alien cats" Clara felt angry tears prick her eyes. She didn't want to cry; not now, in front of the Doctor. But she felt them spill down her cheeks, regardless. "It's like you wanted me to have a rotten time. Like you wanted to turn me off getting a cat."

"Clara-" the Doctor stepped toward her, but she held up a hand.

"I don't know why. Perhaps you hate cats after all, and you presumed that I shouldn't like them either, but whatever the reason, it was weird and selfish and unkind!"

The kettle emitted a piercing shriek.

The Doctor stared at Clara, his face expressionless. Then he turned abruptly, and walked out of the kitchen. She heard the Tardis wheezing as it dematerialized. Then the apartment was quiet.

Clara let out a long shuddering breath. He was gone. Just like that. She'd spilled her guts to him, and he'd literally walked out on her. She dumped a teabag into the mug; splashed hot water over it. Lots of milk, and one, two, three teaspoons of sugar. God knows, she needed something sweet. No doubt the Doctor couldn't cope with her outburst. Feelings – too complicated and all that. Or worse, he was offended, and was now parked somewhere in space, glowering at the stars, sulking.

She picked up the mug (with a rather shaky hand), then she heard it. The Tardis, materializing in her living room, making her heart catch a little. She heard the door creak as it swung open; heard the soft clump of the Doctor's boots, as he walked across the kitchen linoleum. She knew he stood behind her.

Clara did not turn around. He had gone away without a word of understanding and comfort. And now he was back. Probably to tell her she was overreacting. Or to blithely suggest they visit a new planet, as if nothing had happened. No. She would not turn around. Nothing could possibly make her turn around.

"Miaow."

She turned around.

The Doctor was there, cradling in his arms a small, grey tabby.

"Oh!" Despite herself, Clara moved forward and held out a finger, which the tabby licked with a small pink tongue. She felt a smile creep across her face.

"I went to the local Animal Shelter, five blocks from here," said the Doctor. "This chap seemed in need of a good home. He's yours, if you want to keep him."

Clara held out her hands, and the Doctor gently transferred the cat to her. She stroked its head, and the cat purred loudly.

"Does he have a name?"

"Miaooow."

"The Tardis doesn't translate Earth-based animals," explained the Doctor. "Luckily, I speak fluent Earth Cat."

"Let me guess," said Clara. "It's something like Mr Superwhiskers. Or King Catster. Or Mouseageddon."

"Miaooow!"

"Actually, it's Brian," said the Doctor.

Clara laughed. She carefully put Brian down. Then she poured some milk into a saucer and set it on the floor. Brian enthusiastically lapped it up, pausing between laps to purr. After a second's thought, Clara took another mug, and made a tea for the Doctor.

"You were right," said the Doctor abruptly. "I didn't want you to get a cat."

"But why, Doctor?"

The Doctor sipped his tea, looking slightly embarrassed. "I was scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

His grey eyes were soft. "Clara, I've travelled with many people. And I've lost them all. Sometimes it's because of…circumstances. But often, it's their choice."

This was what he was afraid of? "Doctor, I'll never want to stop travelling with you. The things you've shown me-"

"You say that now. But Clara, what if you change your mind? What if you decide you want to put down roots right here on Earth? I just… I just… worried, you know, that first it'd be a cat. Then a dog. Then a station wagon. Then a toaster. Then a new boyfriend – or girlfriend – whatever. Then before you know it, you'd rather spend your time darning curtains and hanging up socks. Or is it vice versa? Either way, you'd have sweet and compelling responsibilities right here on Earth, and you won't want to be flinging yourself around time and space with a daft old man." He took a deep breath. "Clara, I didn't want you to get a cat because I was scared that it would be the beginning of the end. That eventually, there wouldn't be room in your life for me."

Clara shook her head. For a smart man, the Doctor could sometimes be very, very, stupid. "Doctor," she said. "There will always be room in my life for a cat and a Timelord."

He grinned at her awkwardly, and she smiled back. Brian had finished his milk and butted his head against her leg. She picked him up.

"Miaow."

"Well that's good," said the Doctor. "Because he definitely wants to stay."

They both stroked Brian silently for a minute; their hands briefly brushing against each other. Something occurred to Clara.

"I already have a toaster!"

"You do?"

"Yep. Kettle too."

"Well, that's even worse."

"But don't worry. Kitchen appliances are not enough to make us miss an adventure."

"Us?"

"Brian's coming too, from now on," said Clara. "You don't expect me to leave him here, do you?"

The Doctor frowned. "Fine. But he's not allowed on the Tardis console, or in the swimming pool, or on my bed."

"Miaow!"

Clara did not speak Earth Cat, but judging from the Doctor's expression, she believed that Brian would find his way to at least one of those places – most probably the third one. She smiled. Traveling with a Timelord and a cat was going to be a lot of fun.


End file.
